


On Bees and Corpses and Kissing Your Flatmate

by CommonNonsense



Series: Tumblr-Inspired Ficlets [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Sherlock is a gay dorky baby who cannot handle feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-24 11:26:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1603466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommonNonsense/pseuds/CommonNonsense
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John goes in for the kiss. Sherlock deduces it before it happens and spouts off everything that could possibly turn a man off from kissing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Bees and Corpses and Kissing Your Flatmate

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by: http://anotherwellkeptsecret.tumblr.com/post/83372783804/what-if-sherlock-deduces-johns-going-to-kiss-him

There’s no reason not to, anymore.

John realizes this as he and Sherlock walk back to Baker Street, full of a fantastic post-case dinner and winding down from an adrenaline-filled day. They’re content and laughing, bumping elbows as they walk back from their third case in two weeks.

It feels like it did _before_ : before the jump, before Mary, before Moriarty and his whole bloody spectacle.

And Sherlock has spent the entire day shooting him such subtle but utterly adoring glances whenever he thinks John isn’t looking, just the mere thought of them makes John’s stomach flutter. So really, there’s no reason at all now for John not to give in to the years-long urge to kiss Sherlock.

They’ve lapsed into a companionable silence by the time they reach the flat. John leads the way up the steps, then pauses with his hand on the doorknob. Now would be the best time, he thinks. Before they take it up to the flat, to their home. Out here, in the crisp evening air, they can take the moment with them or leave it out on the street like so much rubbish, if they have to. It’s an illogical thought, but it crosses John’s mind nonetheless.

God, he hopes it doesn’t come to that.

“John?” Sherlock voice behind him is questioning, but not demanding. It inexplicably makes John grin as he turns to face Sherlock, standing several inches higher on the steps above him.

“Just a sec,” he replies, then hesitates. Now that he’s made the decision in his mind, he has no idea how to proceed. Sherlock’s brows inch inward as the seconds tick by, and his head tilts fractionally to the left, making his curls bounce just enough to draw the eye. John unconsciously licks his lips, imagining threading his fingers through those locks.

“Right. Um.” He blows out a breath that ends in a self-deprecating chuckle and takes a step down, putting himself closer. He keeps his hands in his pockets and waits just a second to see what Sherlock will do.

Sherlock is visibly confused now. His gaze darts over John, who wonders just what details Sherlock’s reading on him—his body language, his smile, his nervousness, the faint flush he can feel burning on his cheeks, all of them probably provide Sherlock with more than enough information to figure out what’s happening before John can even act. He knows Sherlock has figured it out when Sherlock’s face goes slack, his eyes widening slightly. His irises catch the light from the streetlamps, intriguingly bright and silver.

“Oh,” he murmurs.

John can’t help the laugh that bubbles forth. “Can I … ?” he starts to ask, letting the question trail off into the cold air on the vapors of his breath. He starts to shift forward.

“Adipocere formation is actually not a universal phenomenon in decomposing bodies,” Sherlock blurts.

John stops. “What?”

“It’s not uncommon in places of high moisture and warm temperatures, such as where we found the body in the river today, but otherwise it’s uncommon, although useful for determining time of death.”

John waits. Sherlock suddenly becomes interested in everything around him except for John.

“Bees are sometimes attracted to corpses,” he babbles on, apparently addressing the evening sky. “I once solved a case in which the bodies had been found with bees and wasps eating their flesh.”

“Is that so,” John says, his smile tugging at his mouth again in spite of the gruesome image.

“As a general rule, order Hymenoptera is not necrophagous, but some bees and wasps are known to do it in addition to preying on other insects that gather at the corpse—”

John takes one last step down, putting him right at Sherlock’s level. Sherlock’s already rapid speech quickens.

“—and the presence of bees and eggs laid by them can aid in determining the time of death—”

John shuffles to the edge of the stair and looks up into Sherlock’s wide eyes.

“—and it really is _quite fascinating how a whole ecosystem forms around a corpse—”_

John pulls one hand from his coat pocket.

“—andhowthebeesutilizeotherfoodsourceseveniftheyrelyonhoney—”

John cups the side of Sherlock’s face in his palm and Sherlock goes perfectly still.

His lips are parted as though he wants to continue speaking, but no sound comes out. With no protests, John leans in and kisses him.

John wants to drag it out. He wants to lick into that perfect mouth and draw their bodies together to share their warmth in the cool evening, but he resists. Instead, he lets it go just long enough to get a tempting taste of Sherlock’s lips and, hopefully, impress upon Sherlock the full meaning of what he wants to say. Then he draws back.

Although he hasn’t reacted, Sherlock’s eyes have drifted closed. He’s slow to open them again and looks utterly shell-shocked when he meets John’s gaze. John waits, needing to see what Sherlock will do.

Sherlock does nothing at all. His mouth works at first like he’s trying to formulate a response to being kissed on the doorstep to their flat, but then he stops entirely, the only sign he’s still living being the occasional rapid blink.

“Sherlock?” John gently prompts, to no avail.

As the seconds tick past, the anxiety starts to solidify in his gut. Perhaps he was mistaken after all. He pulls his hand away from Sherlock’s cheek.

“Kissing triggers the release of hormones such as dopamine and adrenaline that create an effect similar to a drug, making it addictive.”

John is startled again. Sherlock’s gaze has refocused on him, suddenly intent.

“What?”

Sherlock scowls. He inhales deeply, and some of the tension ebbs from his body. His hands come up from their formerly stiff positions at his sides. One grips John’s shoulder. The other curls around the back of his neck, drawing them closer together.

“I mean,” he says, slow and deliberate, “kiss me again.”

“Oh,” John says, before Sherlock’s mouth covers his, soft and shy and perfectly sweet.


End file.
